The Story Left Untold
by Dewy - 2 JBFA WINS
Summary: Oneshot. This is the story many of you believe I don't have. Sarah Fic!


**The Story Left Untold**

The day Papa told me that we'd have to work to support the family, I was very angry at him. I was fresh out of school, ready to start my life, get a job and work for myself. He told me this was different, and that since he could not work anymore, we had to find some ways to earn money. My siblings and I would have to work to keep food on the table. Sure, Mama worked, but for minimum wages making lace. My siblings weren't too happy about it either. They were doing quite well in school, a lot better then I had, may I add, and didn't want this to lower the percentage of their school grades.

Papa's first suggestion was to be newsies. I dismissed that idea right off. I mean, can you imagine living a grimy, homeless life selling newspapers the whole day? Of course, we have an apartment and wouldn't have to sleep in the lodging houses, but it's still too dirty for me. The second idea was working at the factory Mama works at. Of course that was the better of the two, so that is what I chose. Ignoring my warning otherwise, my siblings chose to become newsies, but only if they promised to return to school when Papa got his job back.

Working in the factory is not fun. You sit and stitch for long, silent hours. Well, not exactly silent. There's booming noises everywhere from the machines, but no one speaks. It's really awkward, and I wish we would talk as we worked. That would make for a happier environment for everybody. Then maybe I'd make some friends there. No one is even my age anyway. They're Mama's age and older. I'd say Cecile, the woman I have to sit next to, has got to be seventy five. But she's one of the best stitchers here, so what can I say to that.

It wasn't that hard to learn, making lace. All you do is stitch…and stitch…and stitch. All day long. I work long days and sometimes long nights if I do not finish. Junior employees are allowed to bring their work home, so after six thirty I usually do just that. I only get about one done a day, but that's because I'm new. Mama gets done about five a day. Cecile makes it close to ten! Thank heavens I won't be here that long to make that many a day. I never want to be like Cecile.

It was growing late, six forty five, and there was only a little sunlight left. I had stayed an extra fifteen minutes today finishing up. I had worked so hard that day. I couldn't believe I actually finished one sheet in a full work day without having to take it home. So I skipped down the steps of the factory, ignoring blank stares from a few older women still stitching, and pushed open the door. In my hand I held my finished sheet of lace. I wasn't going to turn it in just yet; I wanted to show Mama my work first.

A group of newsies were passing by just as I exited the building. When I was sure they were all past, I shot out of the building. But, just my luck, one straggler had run just into my path as I flung myself out of the heavy door. He ran right into me, tripping us both to the ground. He had light brown hair, although it could have been blonde with dirt streaked though it from living on the streets. He mumbled something and stood, and I did the same. I brushed the dirt off my dress, but not before catching his glance. His deep, dark brown eyes met mine and I quickly looked away, embarrassed. Someone called something and he turned, and the group of newsies he had been trailing started laughing. I started to walk toward my sheet of lace, which had been dropped a little to the left. He went ahead and picked it up for me, ignoring his friends' laughter. Our eyes met again as he closed my hand around my lace. He muttered something like 'Sorry,' and was gone.

I watched him run up to his friends, slap one short kid on the arm, and walk away with them. I brushed off my sheet of lace on my dress, which wasn't necessarily in the cleanest condition either, but it helped a little. I headed for home then, wondering what my parents would say about my lace, finished in just one day of work. But as I went, something else couldn't leave my mind either.

- - - - -

My parents had been overjoyed about my lace. I was quite proud of it myself, and they had as well. My siblings had brought in a little money from their papers, but I'm sure I will make more than both of their profits together in the end. All they have to do is ask people if they want to buy a paper. I actually have to work hard. I think my parents understand this, because they fussed over my lace like it was a masterpiece of artwork.

The next day went by very slow. All I did is sit and stitch, having to listen to Cecile talk to herself. Why, that passes the time, but slowly. 'Oh, you little thread, get back here!' she'd call. Boy. I really do hope I never end up like Cecile.

I made sure to leave the factory at six thirty sharp, so not to run into that group of newsboys again. That definitely would not have been too bad, because they are quite good looking, bearing in mind that they are a year or two younger than me. I hadn't finished a whole sheet that day, because I was so distracted by Cecile. That's quite alright though, because I'd rather finish it at home anyway. I'd finish in the peace and quiet of my room, or perhaps in the kitchen with Mama, growing hungry with the smell of supper cooking.

I placed my lace, needle, and thread into my dress pocket, just for a precaution against it falling and getting dirty again. I walked up to the door and pressed my body against it to push it open. I let it slam behind me, not even bothering to close it politely. With that, I began my walk home, thinking of the dark-eyed stranger I had met the other night.

- - - - -

That night, my brothers were late coming home, and my Mama was getting nervous for them. I was finishing my lace later then usual that night. I heard the door open and two people walk in, who I assumed were my two brothers. I heard the clang of money hitting the table and smiled to myself, trying to guess how much they had made. Fifty cents? Probably not even that much. I looked up when I heard my brother David mention my name and caught a boy's eyes. I recognized him in an instant as the boy I had bumped into yesterday. A smile escaped my lips and I looked away, still embarrassed about what had happened the other night. I felt his eyes linger one me for a second longer and then look back to David.

His name was Jack Kelly, newsie extraordinaire. He stayed for supper; we were having soup, Mama's specialty. He was telling us about being a newsie. How I longed to talk to him. He was so good looking, gorgeous even. Compared to David, he was a god. I don't want to say anything bad about David's appearance, but he isn't the most attractive boy on the street. At least I know that now.

Mama asked me to collect all of our bowls, so I got up without argument. Just before taking Jack's he asked me, "Can I have a little more please?" I replied, "Yes," smiling once more.

I must have sounded so pathetic saying it, too, because the whole time he was over I was wondering to myself if I looked nice, if my hair was done pretty enough, if he'd like me, and all the sort that run's through a young woman's head when a boy walks into the room. Well, this boy wasn't just walking into the room; he was sitting right next to me the whole supper.

I walked over to the pot and spooned some more soup into Jack's bowl and brought it back. He was talking about how my brothers David and Les were 'born newsies.' That's so sweet of him.

"What makes a headline good?" I asked as I sat down, setting his bowl in front of him. He looked over to me and replied in the cutest accent, "Ya know… catchy words like um, maniac, or uh, corpse…let's see…love nest…or nude." I loved the way he said 'words.' He said it like 'woids.' Mama's eyes widened as he spoke, but I thought it quite funny and laughed. He did as well, but cut off short to address my mother's sharp gaze. "Excuse me. Maybe I'm talkin' too much."

I didn't think he was talking too much. I was so fascinated by his voice. The crisp, soft tone of it and the heavy New York accent I don't have. I kind of wish I did, in a way. Mama had told me that accents make you sound less intelligent, and that may be, but it doesn't make him sound any less intelligent. You have to carry it well, I think. I don't think I'd be able to carry an accent well without sounding stupid.

"Sarah," my father called, breaking the silence that hung in the air, and I turned to him, "Go get the cake your mother's hiding in the cabinet."

"That's for your birthday tomorrow!" she replied. I stood to go get the cake, but remembered that my mother liked to do the honors of bringing it out. Instead, I decided to get the plates out.

"I got the plates!" I said excitedly. Cake is such a delicacy that we do not have often. Only on birthdays, and that's five times a year. Actually, sometimes we have cake on holidays as well. David got out the knife and Mama brought out the cake. Chocolate, which was my father's favorite.

"Happy birthday, Papa," I added as I walked over to him. David did not seem happy: he had just been reminded that he would have to go back to school once Papa's injury was healed. My mother cut the cake and handed me a piece to give to Jack. Our eyes met as I handed it to him. I was caught in his gaze, wondering if this was real or if it was a dream. I hoped it was a dream, because I forgot to hand him a fork! Mortified, I handed him one. (It was not a dream.)

Then Les, my other brother, nine years old (David was sixteen) started singing. Something like 'Coochy-coo with me.' David and Jack started laughing. Obviously they knew the story behind the song Les was singing. Mama asked, "Now what is this, David?" David rolled his eyes at Jack and finished eating his cake.

- - - - -

A few days passed and I hadn't seen Jack again, but David constantly talked about him and their little strike going on. I hadn't seen him, but that doesn't mean I didn't think about him. A girl's got to think of something while she stitches all day, doesn't she?

Well, one morning, I woke up to find him sleeping outside my window on the fire escape.

"Did you sleep out there all night?" I asked, hoping that he was awake, or almost. I grabbed the curtain, self conscious of what I looked like, and pulled it across my body to conceal myself a little. I know that it was see-though and would do nothing, but it made me feel better. He looked up and replied, "Yeah."

"Why didn't you wake us up?" I questioned, smiling. Could this be real? I wake up to find a handsome boy sleeping outside my window. This is _not _real. (But it was.)

"Well I didn't wanna disturb nobody," he answered, smiling, with a touch of accent on the word 'disturb.' He said it like 'distoib.' That is the cutest thing. I wish I did that. He got up and leaned up again my windowsill. "See, it's like the waldorf out here. Great view, cool air." He ran a hand through his hair, one elbow propped on the sill.

I thought for a moment, searching his eyes. "Go up on the roof," I instructed. I got up and so did he. As soon as he had begun climbing up I quickly changed so I would look decent, and brushed my hair. It was already done, since I had brushed it last night before bed as well, but this was a special occasion.

I grabbed our jug of milk and the bread basket before meeting him. I carried it up onto the roof, where I found him boxing a pair of socks. He walked over to the garden we had and plucked a tomato. "Are you hungry?" I asked, setting down the basket.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Good," I replied, "Because I made you breakfast."

I took a tablecloth off of the clothesline and set it in front of Jack, who sat down. I decided to start a conversation. "Papa's so proud of you and David. You should hear him talking about Jack Kelly. The strike leader," I began, "who occasionally takes his meals with us."

"Well this is one strike leadeh who's going to be very happy when this is all over, so I can get outta here and go to Santa Fe. I mean, there's nothin' for me to stay for, is there?"

I looked over to him, wondering what kind of answer he was yearning for. I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled at him.

"Ya know, you should see Santa Fe. Everything's different there. It's all bigger. Ya know, the desert, the sky, the sun."

"It's the same sun as here," I interjected.

"Yeah but it looks different," he replied.

Silence hung in the air once more, and I remembered that I had to get to the factory soon. Being late was _not _tolerated.

"I should get ready for work," I said.

Just as I was about to start toward the ladder he calls me. "Sarah?" I looked back to him and he continued. "I'm just not used to whether I stay or whether I go matter to anybody. And I'm not sayin' it should matter to you. But…does it? Matter?"

I smiled and laughed a little, knowing that he knew plenty well my answer.

- - - - -

When Jack invited me to the rally, what could I say? Of course I'd go with him! I made such a fuss over what I looked like. The night before I set my hair in curlers and slept with them in to set. I wore my best dress and a hat, and sat at a small table beside the stage. Jack had borrowed a black jacket from David to wear to make him look a bit more professional for the night. He did. He made this speech up on the stage with David and Spot, another newsie from Brooklyn, I think. Jack's really good at talking to large crowds. I don't think I could ever have gotten up and done that. I'm terrified of public speaking.

Medda Larkson, the woman who owned Irving Hall I believe, came out next to do her act. She's really pretty, but almost as old as my mother. It's a wonder why all the newsies were attracted to her. I think it's because she was wearing a very skimpy dress that my parents would never approve me of wearing.

Jack came and sat with me while she sang, singing along to a song I didn't know. I guessed that he'd heard the song before. I smiled at him as he got up to dance with his friends and Medda. I believe he knows her.

David caught sight of something that alarmed him and whispered something to Spot, the other newsie that had been on the stage with Jack. Both got up fast and David made his way over to Jack. He told Jack whatever he had seen. Just before him and Jack made their way to wherever they had to go or do, a whistle sounded and policemen came in from every entrance to the Hall.

Jack and David led me and Les to an exit before running from a bunch of officers the other way. I took Les home as fast as I could, knowing that David was safe with Jack.

When David came home that night, he had bad news. The police had caught Jack. He was unsure of why they wanted him, but they had taken Jack along with a lot of his newsie friends into custody until a trial the next morning. We both worried for all of them.

- - - - -

"Jack's gone scab."

The words echoed in my head, even though David had said them over an hour ago. Jack had been sentenced to jail until he was twenty one for escaping prison. Can you believe it? A boy that polite and smart had been in jail.

But he had gotten out of jail on one condition: sell papers for Pulitzer, the owner of _The World _newspaper. Jack got paid so much money for it too. David is so angry. I don't think I've even seen him this angry. I can see why he is though, but there's got to be another solution to this, another reason for Jack to have done this. He wouldn't just desert everyone now, now that they were getting so close!

- - - - -

The day I got off from work, Les and I took our laundry down to clean. I noticed a man behind me I turned my head to look at him. I'd never seen him before.

"Hey there, sweet face," he said, tipping his hat up.

I ignored him and continued walking. But before I could do anything, another man walked up to me and they sandwiched me between them. The new man said, "Where's your little brother, tootsie?" the first man behind me laughed and he continued, "Where's little Dave?" He threw my laundry basket to the ground. I tried to get away, but the caught me.

"Leave my sister alone!" Les said to the man behind me. He laughed and threw Les into a pile of empty milk jugs.

The older of the two, I believe, was focused on me. "You stupid ape," was all I could muster. I attempted to punch him, but I missed his face and ended up punching the wall instead. I bit back the pain and ran into the alley behind us, not knowing that it was a dead end. I saw David run up to Les.

"I'm ok. Go help Sarah," I heard Les say to him and point down the alley where I had run.

"Run, Davey!" I screamed to him, and the younger of the two men chasing me mocked me. "_Run, Davey_!"

Despite my cry, David ran in towards me. The man holding me threw me to the ground and went to David.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" I screamed, hoping someone could hear me before they actually hurt him. The older boy held David still as the younger placed a metal band on his knuckles. They were planning on beating up my brother!

I had nothing to worry about though, because Jack came running into the alley. He was dressed in a grey suit and wore a cabby hat that was quite unlike him; he usually wore a cowboy hat. He grabbed the younger man and punched him, and kicked the other boy. He took the first boy again and said, "Remember Crutchy?" and then knocked his head into the boy's. I don't know who Crutchy is, but it got his point across.

He helped me up and hugged me. Of course I never wanted the hug to end, but I knew that my brother was hurt, so I said, "David!" Jack turned and helped him up. They had hurt him, but he could handle it. At least they hadn't punched him with that metal thing. That's all that matters.

- - - - -

I gave the article Denton had written about the newsies rally to Jack the next day. Les had wrapped up some disgusting snack in it at Tibby's once when David had thrown it away. We decided to go see Denton about this.

What started as a friendly visit ended as a newspaper planning. That's right, we were going to make our own paper to spread the word about the newsboy strike, the terrible conditions of the refuge, and more. Denton knew everything about making a paper, and Jack knew what to write in it. They were a perfect team. David, Les and I just tagged along and helped. First, we needed a printing press to make the paper with. The only one we knew of was Pulitzer's: which means it was close but also very risky. If we were caught we could all go to jail. But the positives outweighed the negatives, and we went to use it.

We printed…and printed…and printed. We made as many as we could to pass around to as many people as possible. We had to get the word out.

- - - - -

We won. Somehow the paper got to the president and he believed us! Millions of people agreed with us. We had such a big crowd, it was stunning. Teddy Roosevelt offered Jack a ride on his carriage: think of it! But he asked to go to the train yards. I guess he was really going to get to Santa Fe after all.

We all watched him leave. Les was crying, and David and I shared a silent moment thinking of how close we both were with Jack.

But wait: could it be?

Jack is coming back?

- - - - -

Well, you all know how it ends. Jack and I share a kiss, all the newsies cheer that he's back, and that they had won what they had been fighting for: independence.

That's the end of my story for now. I hope that it's been interesting: it sure was for me.

- - - - -

**[Author's note: There you go. I longed for a Sarah story. A story that gave her character, traits, some emotions. For many, she is a stupid character from Newsies just put in the movie for a love plot. She may be, but I hope that after reading this story you look at her differently, because I sure do. Please review! This is my first one-shot ever, and could possibly be the best-written story I've written so far. I tried to use lots of description! Thank you so much for reading!!**

**[Legal: I don't own Newsies; they are the property of Disney. I am in no way, shape or form **_**really**_**Sarah Jacobs. All characters in this story rightfully belong to Disney.**


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